Secret Santa
by Raincatcher13
Summary: [Oneshot] A Secret Santa gift exchange is organzied at a World Meeting just before Christmas. Things go as planned, but just how planned is 'planned' when you're a nation? Merry Christmas! (Hints of PruCan, GerIta, DenNor, but mostly just weirdness.)


A/N- I don't know if there are any stories like this on Hetalia right now, if there are, this is no copying intended! And you all have a very merry Christmas! I wrote this really quickly cause my grandparents are here and I want to spend time with family, I just wanted to give you all something! Love you all! (And I hope it's not too long or boring!)

* * *

"Okay, you all!" Russia stood up, drawing the attention of the room. The loud racket found specially in Meetings died off to quiet murmurs and raised eyebrows. Russia had something to say?

"Oh, Russia, please don't start talking about your idea for fortified doorknobs." Germany rolled his eyes.

"That was a good idea!" fired back Russia. "I know _some _of us could use it." He glanced over at Belarus, who was sitting next to a trembling Latvia, obviously unaware of the accusation. Russia shook his head. "Anyways, Christmas is almost upon us, da?"

Japan shrugged. "It's not really like we have"-

"Totally, dude!" America cheered. "The old Commie might have a good idea for once! It's truly a Christmas miracle!"

"Hmm," Japan considered. "Well, if America-san thinks Russia-san's idea may be a good plan, I wholeheartedly support and second him."

"Get your own damn opinion, Japan!" Switzerland snapped, causing the island nation to frown and look down in his lap, embarrassed. "Sorry," he murmured.

"Alright! So, everyone here is familiar with Secret Santa, right?"

America's eyes lit up. "SECRET SANTA! How do you know about that, Russia?"

Russia frowned, turning to his friend/enemy/ally/rival. "Remember at that Christmas party you threw one year?"

"Ohh, yeah! Man, this is awesome! So you wanna do a Secret Santa?"

"Da!"

America stood up dramatically. He hoped his chair would fall over when he stood up like in action movies, but it didn't, so he kicked one of the legs and watched it fly four feet behind him. And it didn't fall over. "So, for you losery loser nations who either a) didn't attend my super awesome Christmas party, or b) Secret Santa isn't in your culture thingy, let me explain how it goes!"

Iceland sighed loudly and rested his chin on the table. He saw similar reactions from some other nations. A RusAme collaboration? This was not good. So not good.

"So, basically, we throw names into a hat! Or a frying pan if that's all that's available. Let's hope it doesn't catch on fire, like that time when China spilled oil on the paper slips and Hungary caught it on fire..." America babbled on until Germany said, "Enough! Just explain the rules to those who don't know how to play."

"Fine, fine, calm yo ass, Deutschland. Everyone draws a name from the hat or frying pan or origami boat, and you have to get a gift for the country you draw! And it's totally, five hundred percent anonymous. I mean, I suppose if you bribe me I'll tell you the names, but, uh"-

"Wait," Russia said. "I thought I was hosting this."

"Well, I explained the rules!"

"Da, but that is not fair! I did not have a chance"-

"Too bad! Finders keepers losers weepers!"

"That saying does not even go in context here!"

"As I said, too bad, Russia! Take your opportunities as they come, not five minutes after!" America laughed loudly. Germany rolled his eyes, taking a piece of paper and carefully shredding it into slips for the names.

"Does anyone have a hat?" Germany asked. Sweden handed over his blue cap without saying a word. Germany grunted thanks and wrote everyone's name on the slips, slowly and deliberately. He did not make any spelling errors, his handwriting was perfect, and the paper was torn just so.

When he looked up, he realized everyone had boxes of takeout Americanized Chinese food.

"What the hell happened here? Did a chow mein bomb explode or something?"

"Herr, you just... took so long," Liechtenstein said timidly. "It's New York City, after all. We just got some Chinese food and came right back..." she held up her box. "See, takeout?"

"That's ridiculous!" Germany shouted. "I only took five minutes."

"More like five hundred," America muttered to England.

"Draw a name," Germany said. "Take one and pass it along. No complaining, no whining, no tears, _no blood. _Do not spend and unreasonable amount of money on your gift, that means too much money or too little money. Do not switch names. Does everyone understand?"

People murmured agreement, and Germany held up Sweden's hat and grabbed a name.

When Germany saw what name he got, he almost wished he hadn't stated the rules beforehand.

_**Italy** _

Well, shit.

* * *

"I'm telling you, everything here is so cheap!"

"Well, of course. It's not sophisticated, for one thing. It's all imported from China."

"Cheap prices, you frog. Not cheap material." England scanned shelves of colorful Christmas toys. As Liechtenstein had said, the Meeting was in New York City, United States, and the stores were packed with last-minute shoppers. But everyone had agreed, since the duration of the NYC stay was a week, the gift exchange would happen on all the nation's last day in America. Which was two days from then. England was just hoping he could get back to the hotel where the countries were currently residing for the trip without anyone seeing what he got.

"Say, France, who did you get?" England selected a three-foot-tall stuffed panda from the shelf. He had gotten China, that much was obvious.

"Me?" France sounded at a loss of words for once. "I can't tell you. It's a secret, non?"

England raised a large eyebrow. "Ohh, I bet you got Canada or something. Aww. How cute."

"Th-that's not it!" France snapped, shoving his hand in his pocket. He could feel the little slip of paper. He knew perfectly well who he got, and it was definitely not Canada. In his memory, could see Germany's handwriting on his slip of paper, carefully spelling out a single name:

_England. _

* * *

Denmark's eyes widened as he saw the cast iron skillet in the Cooking/Houseware section. He had come to some random store called "WalMart" after driving for a half hour to get outside of the bustling city. Things weren't much better, though. Freaks were strutting down the fresh vegetables aisle in the so-called "WalMart", dressed weirder than people Denmark had seen in Harajuku. God, Americans were weird.

But no matter. He had found the perfect gift for the person he drew, now that he saw the skillet.

Would Hungary love anything more than a new frying pan to whack the Christmas happiness right out of Prussia's skull?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the WalMart, Japan was looking around for a proper gift for Russia. At first he had wanted to get vodka, but he wanted to go for something a little less... expected.

_A revolver, maybe? No, I don't think _that's _a good idea. _

Japan tapped his chin, pulling a blue tin off of a shelf that had been on eye level.

_Dansk? Isn't that Danish or something? Hai, it must be. Cookies. Well, everyone likes cookies, even frozen Russians, right? This should be good! Danish butter cookies! _

Japan ran to the register. Denmark looked up from his line, noticing the tin in Japan's arms.

_Wow, _Denmark thought. _I thought maybe everyone would be shopping in New York City! What are the odds of seeing Japan in this WalMart or whatever? Hey..._

His eyes narrowed.

_ARE THOSE THE FREAKING COOKIES OF MY COUNTRY? SWEET DAMN, THEY ARE! JAPAN MUST HAVE DRAWN MY NAME! AWESOME! _

After all, who else would want DANISH butter cookies?

* * *

Canada lingered just behind the cash register, trying to work up the courage to buy the items he wanted. Actually, miracle of miracles, he had drawn none other than Zhe Awesome Prussia in the lottery. This was bad. This was worse than the time he accidentally dropped Kumarjiro on the ground. This was worse than the time America had insisted everyone play Seven Minutes in Heaven and he got stuck in a closet with Belarus.

He looked at the bottle in his hand. It wasn't beer or whiskey or vodka. It wasn't even a drink. It was maple syrup. The thick syrup glittered in the light coming from the window. It wasn't like Canadian grocery stores. There weren't a lot of maple brands to choose from. But the name didn't matter so much as the thought, right? And maple syrup was the most precious thing Matthew had to offer. If he shared it with Prussia, would the latter laugh at him? Would he throw the bottle in his face and say he didn't like maple syrup and Canada's gift was lame?

_Oh, no. _Canada buried his face in his hands, shivering violently even though New York City cold was nothing compared to Some-Parts-of-Canada cold. _Darn it! Why did I have to get _his _name..._

"Sir, do you need some assistance?" A saleswoman came over to Canada, her voice concerned. "Do you need help finding something?"

"Actually... I'm sort of supposed to get someone a Secret Santa gift, but I don't know..."

"Oh!" The saleswoman sighed. "Last year I did one of those with a couple of friends. And what do I get?"

Canada shrugged.

The woman, who looked like she might have still been in high school, laughed. "I got a pair of underwear. Sucks, right? And you know the worst part? I don't know who even got me my gift. It's anonymous, y'know, so go ahead and get whatever it is you want to."

Canada felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. "Oh! Thank you so much! Then I guess this is all I'm getting."

He felt warm inside. Maple syrup was so precious to him.

But so was Prussia.

* * *

People shuffled into the Meeting room for the seventh and last time, each carrying a gift. Some were small, some were large. Some were wrapped beautifully and intricately, but some people just slapped on old newspapers, papers they had found on the street, and duct tape to form a makeshift package.

"We'll exchange gifts throughout the day," Germany said. "If the person catches you giving them their gift, don't panic. It doesn't matter, but do try to keep it secret!"

And as instructed, various presents were swapped sneakily in the following hours. It reminded everyone of a reverse pickpocketing challenge.

Austria found himself with a pair of high-quality, not ripped-red underwear (courteousy of Italy). Liechtenstein filled a shoebox with cherry blossoms, the most cultural candy one could find in New York City, and origami paper, and slipped it under Japan's chair when the country was chatting with Greece. She received hair ribbons in return, a present from Poland. On the other hand, Poland had received a dress. Like, great, right?

China was delighted with England's stuffed panda. Hungary tested out her Danish-sent, WalMart-bought skillet by beating Prussia upside the head with it. The former nation was knocked out long enough so that Canada slipped the maple syrup in the unconscious man's pocket. Thankfully, when Prussia awoke, he figured it was from the sensitive Canada and said it was awesome, and other people looked at him funny and asked him who he was talking to. Didn't matter, Canada was beside himself with joy, and he ended up taking home Belgian waffle batter.

"Hey, Italty," Germany called. "I'm out of beer. Could you get me some more?"

"Of course, Doitsu!" Italy walked over to the keg in the corner of the room, and Germany made a mad dash to Italy's chair, pulling off three awesome leaps that would make his older brother proud and a ninja shoulder roll that would make Japan green with envy.

He had wrapped the box in green paper and tied it with a red ribbon. Actually, he had to ask Ukraine for help with wrapping, but she was in the Christmas spirit and was happy to help. She thought it was especially cute that Germany had gotten Italy, and she had clasped her hands under her chin and sighed, "GerIta!"

"What's that?" Germany had asked, and Ukraine giggled and said, "Oh, just ask Hungary!"

Inside was dried pasta, an assortment of cheeses, a bottle of wine, and chocolate. Germany was always amazed at the amount of food such a scrawny boy could consume.

Germany was about to stand up, but he saw Italy walking over.

_Verdammt! _

Germany jolted backwards and dropped on his stomach, army crawling under the table back to his seat.

"Doitsu? Doitsu, where are you? I have your beer," Italy called, and Germany jumped in surprise and let out a small shout when he hit someone else. Thankfully, the combined noise of everyone talking and laughing masked his shout of alarm.

"Germany! Why, what are you doing under the table?" Russia tilted his head and smiled, closing his eyes in happiness.

"Nothing!" barked out Germany. "And you?"

"Hiding from Belarus, what else?" Russia said. "Can you believe she drew my name? Was the lottery rigged? It was, da?" Russia was growing angry, and the purple aura was emanating from him, scaring the shit out of Germany. "You rigged it. You did that, Germany."

"It wasn't rigged!" Germany protested, moving backwards so he could escape from under the table. Unfortunately, he stood up just as Italy was looking over.

"Doitsu! Did you get me this?" Italy held up the package happily.

"Yes. I mean, no! Well," grumbled Germany. "It's secret, isn't it?"

Italy threw his arms around Germany. He wasn't super tall, so he could only reach Germany's chest, but Germany's faced turned about five shades of red before settling on a crimson color. Of course that was when Japan had to snap a picture with the disposable camera Liechtenstein had also included in the Japanese Gift Box.

"Look at that!" America laughed, pointing at Germany, who was trying to pry Italy off of him.

"What did you get, you bratty git?" England asked America.

America looked down. "I got a McDonald's gift card! It's that great?"

"No! Not great! The last thing you need is more food. You're lucky you have a high metabolism, or else you'd be as fat as a cannonball."

"Meta-what?" America asked, slurping on a milkshake he seemingly pulled out of thin air. "Whatever, Iggy. What did you get?"

"Roses," England replied. "I know, it's not very Christmas-y, is it?" he asked when he saw America's confused face.

"Nope, it's romantic!" France purred, poking his head between America and England's shoulders.

England shoved France off. "Shoo, pervert!"

France laughed. "So you're a rose hater?"

"No, no, not at all," England replied quickly. He held the bouquet to his nose. "They actually smell quite sweet. As I said, it's not very Christmas-y, but it's a very nice gift."

"Oui? Well, I got those for you!"

England's eyes opened immediately. "What? I take back everything I just said about these!" He threw the roses down on the table. "Shakespeare may have said roses smell sweet, but I hate these! They're awful!"

Unbeknownst to England, America and France, Russia was listening to their conversation from under the table. He could only see the legs of England and America's chairs (and, of course, their real legs), since they were sitting, and he could see France's shoes a short distance behind that. Russia only looked up when a present hit him in the side.

He looked around, but there was nobody there except for Greece. Some other nations had thrown his sleeping body under the table since he kept falling over on to Switzerland during his nap, but of course the Mediterranean nation was still fast asleep a good twenty feet away.

Russia unwrapped the gift to reveal...

_Danish butter cookies? _

He stood up from the table, nearly scaring England to death and earning a "good idea, Commie" from America. He walked right up to Denmark, who was chatting with the other Nordics. Apparently he hadn't received his present yet.

"Did you send me this?" Russia asked, smiling.

Denmark's eyes darted to the tin. "What? No, that's supposed to be mine."

"Oh! I see," laughed Russia. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Hell no! Why would I flirt with ya? I'm saying, those..." Denmark shook his head. "What?"

"Da, da. I will be back, Denmark," Russia said. "Thank you for giving me these."

Sweden snorted as Russia walked away. "Wow, Denm'rk. You couldn't h've been more obvious ab't who the gift was from. Danish butter cookies, r'lly?"

"I didn't send him those!" Denmark insisted. "Japan did!"

"But why would Japan send Russia Danish Butter Cookies? That's like saying Norway would send England Italian pasta," Finland considered. "Although I suppose it's possible."

"You guys just never believe me!" Denmark cried.

"Oh, shut up," Norway said, sounding bored and uninterested in the troubles of the other Nordics. "Here, Denmark." He tossed a small package to Denmark. It skittered across the polished brown table and fell into the Dane's lap. "Merry Christmas."

"It's _Secret_ Santa," Iceland said. "Way to go, Norway."

"Big brother."

"I'm never going to say someone with such hideous Secret Santa gift-giving abilities is my brother."

"It's not a Secret Santa gift. It's just a gift," Norway snapped. Well, not exactly snapped, but said in a slightly annoyed way with slightly more emotion than usual.

"What'd you get him, a wedding ring?" snickered Iceland uncharacteristically.

Denmark opened the box. "Oh. Wow. Thanks, Norway."

"What is it?" Finland asked.

Denmark closed the box. "It's, uh, it reminds me of something France would get someone."

Finland sighed and shook his head, and Iceland gulped and said nervously, "Oh, _that_ type of gift."

The Nordics jumped when Radioactive and Gangnam Style started blaring from someone's portable speakers.

"Looks like Korea got something for Christmas," shouted Norway over the din. But slowly, everyone started to dance to the beat, and then the base dropped, and even Norway couldn't help but get up and dance and go crazy. Someone brought in hot chocolate, and the lights dimmed and the edges of the world dulled.

If you ask a country, most of them will admit the Meeting was one of the most fun Meetings in a while. Minus the part where England got drunk and fell on the ground under the table next to Greece, who was still asleep, thought Greece was dead, and started screaming until America and France carried him outside to calm down. And the part where Prussia's bottle of Canadian maple syrup got crushed by Hungary's new iron pan and exploded on Germany.

In fact, the boring Meeting turned into an improv Christmas party, believe it or not, and the countries agreed that maybe they should let Russia and America plan more events, which of course increased America's ego even more, which (of course) led to Russia and America getting in a "friendly" fight. The only nation to leave NYC at the designated time was Finland.

The Nordic left early to make his annual trip around the Christmas-celebrating world, and maybe if you wake up early enough on Christmas morning, you'll catch him in your house like a creepy stalker. He'll be standing in your living room, stuffing his face with free cookies provided by you, filling your socks with candy and putting presents under a dead tree while his magical reindeer wait on your roof.

You never know.

Merry Christmas.


End file.
